Featured Poems

channeling like his love

by on July 26, 2017 :: 0 comments

through gray infused
shadows of leaves
he walks with i —
color field abstraction
late 1940’s approach
of oil on canvas

combined with acrylic
pigment soaked white
he creates life —
as wings of a butterfly
we carry transcendence
on rainwater steps.

primordial emotions
mark thick paper edges
ancient architectures
mode of infant impressions
he embodies expressionism —
concrete revelations

distinct figuration —
gesture and exploit infinite
exact symmetry script
sombre tones dilute
he is the emergence —
of representational planes.

– Sneha Subramanian Kanta

editors note:

Brush strokes into being, a picture of love from oil and water mixed. – mh clay

NeoMath/Word/LoveDeath

by on July 25, 2017 :: 0 comments

(mathematical proof for dissolved love)

as autumn equals fall

(ditsy crushes, loneliness and love-longing
divided by objective decaying deception
times 2 )
plus dallied days

is equal to common infatuation
rendering
the illusory nearness of berry to Juneleaf
or mistaken strength of rotting bark to trunk

realized pseudo-love
and frail waning desire
produce a cheerless reality

editors note:

OldEquation/NewVariables/HopeMaybe? – mh clay

Yarn

by on July 24, 2017 :: 0 comments

Spinning
Flocculant wool,
Weaving a gravid
Thought.

A blunt tip,
Blindly forged
Into a furnace
Of a brain
To sharp.

Spinning
A sharpener
To pencil a thread of
Wired inkblot
Brood.

Twisting
Yarns the knot,
Giving shape to
A textile she
Brought.

Reading
Undulating
Beats of a heart
In a line of yarns
How I got
Lost.

editors note:

From yarn to yarn; words woven into a tale. – mh clay

Every Day

by on July 23, 2017 :: 0 comments

I got my first medical appliance
a water pick
clinically, my teeth are
“moth eaten”
now it’s a daily ritual
along with the AA prayer,
“God, help me abstain…”
the calorie log,
“¼ cup rice, one entire chicken”
the guitar, the gym,
the words
that keep every day
from being my last.

– Jon Bennett

editors note:

How we reason with the reaper for just one more… – mh clay

UNSTAMPED POSTCARD

by on July 22, 2017 :: 0 comments

One
Split tan shoe
One
Ripped blue shirt
One
Patched green jacket
And some super glue

All of them
More than enough

For this Monday
For a month on Friday
For this ticket backwards

For never in
A million years
Will bones laugh back
Or skulls make cracks
About a lack of success

Like this bus
The wheels turn quicker
Ever quicker still

From there to here
And back again

Like this bottle
Like this tobacco

Like this unstamped postcard

editors note:

Destination the same. Wish you were here! – mh clay

Silence

by on July 21, 2017 :: 0 comments

I sit here tracing these words across this screen
Looking for other possibilities
That can slide beyond the measures of reason
These days my day’s measure is spent
Searching possible futures
That leave me stranded here
In this distant present:

Measuring each word written
I sit in a shady place
And pace each line away
Writing a last refuge
A prisoner pacing the yard
Each word a step
In this battle with meaning

Experience will remain
A mixture of loss and gain
I am torn between a head
That reasons
And a heart that knows

I trace borderlines
Weighing possibilities
One past with another
Looking for connections
Still experience remains
Wrapped by silence
I will not let this rocky world
Shatter me.

editors note:

A little shredded, but never shattered. We make what meaning we can. – mh clay

RESPECT, LOVE, PURPLE FLOWERS

by on July 20, 2017 :: 0 comments

I kneel in gravel, no tears, just
fascinated with six tiny purple petals
poking through light snow. I don’t know
their name. I have arrived
here limping through decades of searing
masculine entitlement and much
benevolent contempt. Six tiny petals
like sunbeams, like foxes, like stars,
reminding me—I need no respect, no
love to exist. My splendid body,
like a purple flower, does its miraculous
thing, even as my soul limps on
in disbelief, knowing how
lovely it would have been to dance.

editors note:

Can’t steal the shine from the stars we are; we CAN dance. – mh clay